


april's day transcends november's year

by jillyfae



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Pre-Relationship, Prequel, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 21:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: Imagine Magnus Bane when he’s just coming into his own as a warlock in the Downworld.Imagine Alec as a baby, his mother holding him in her arms, softly singing his name as she rocks him to sleep.On lives lived before they met, and why it's so very difficult to trust.





	1. Asmodei

**Author's Note:**

> title from e. e. cummings' [unlove's the heavenless hell and homeless home](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?volume=80&issue=3&page=7)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I saw a conversation on my dash about Magnus always being surprised by Alec's, well... _Alec_ , especially in regards the Asmodeus reveal in _Powers That Be_. [[tumblr](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/172384477603)]

Imagine Magnus Bane when he’s just coming into his own as a warlock in the Downworld. 

Powerful, charismatic, handsome. He’s _compelling,_  he draws people’s eyes when he walks into a room and he knows it. It’s so different than when he was a child, when he was unwanted, when he was abandoned or hurt or ridiculed just for existing.

When he was blamed for surviving.

There’s such joy in this freedom, in this extravagance. The whole world is open to him, anything is possible.

Everything is possible.

Anyone is possible, and they flock to him, they do, and it first it’s amazing, exhilarating, _validating._ They see him, they’re _drawn to him,_ to the lift of his voice and the flash of magic between his fingers _,_ and they _stay._

But the first time he kisses someone who isn’t a warlock, the first time he feels his heart sing against their lips and he opens his eyes to smile at them... they flinch.

He practices his glamour more the next day, over and over until he holds it without thinking, without feeling, without doubt. He’s careful now not to lose control, not to feel too quickly. He always kisses with his eyes closed, takes his time before he opens them, so the cat-eyes don’t show in the flicker as he blinks.

He spends more time with his own kind now.

He dislikes the way that phrase rubs in his thoughts, under his skin, but he can’t refute it. Warlocks understand. They’re all children of deception, of violence. Werewolves and vampires are too, of course, but a warlock’s demon blood is different than the taints the other Downworlders carry. It’s virulent, chaotic, an endless possibility of expressions rather than just a werewolf’s shifted form and fury, or a vampire’s speed and hunger. Warlocks feel that fire in their blood, the power they have to ride, so carefully, day after day after day. 

Until the day he realizes that most of them  _don’t._  It’s the day he catches the edge of a Greater Demon’s spell and he realizes it feels like his own magic, it almost feels like home, even as it sears, even as it tastes like poison in the back of his throat. The day he feels his own magic surge, and he almost loses control, and the other warlock’s _know._  They look at him sideways now, whisper behind his back. 

He’ll meet some new warlock travelling around the world and they won’t flinch at his eyes, no, but at the deep red of his spells, the hiss of his power as he draws it from the ley lines, the echo of his magic subtly but unavoidably different than their own. 

They flinch when they learn his name. 

It takes time to figure it out. No one wants to help, no one wants to explain this new world he lives in, this new mystery in what was supposed to be his refuge, his home. He has to _research,_  finds old books and older rumors and he learns, and knowledge like that can never be unlearned. 

 _Asmodei._ He is of Edom, only a single generation removed from a literal _Prince of Hell_. He’s closer to hell than human, further from angelic than anyone else he has ever met. Not that he wants to be angelic. No one likes a Shadowhunter. 

No one trusts a demon.

He has no kind, not really. He is alone. 

They still flock to him, of course, mundanes and Downworlders alike. They want his charm, his power, his spells on their side, his anger directed at their enemies. 

They want to fuck him. He’s as beautiful as any fallen angel. 

They want him, always. But only if he doesn’t get too close. Only if they don’t have to see his eyes and think about who they just let help them. Only if they don’t have to feel the way his magic tugs too deep, too strong, and know _what_ exactly it was they just let touch them.

He learns exactly how far it’s safe to go, how far is a tease, how far might make them shiver, but won’t scare them too much. The knowledge he has can never be unlearned.

No one loves a demon.


	2. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because then I also had to explain Alec's, well... _Alec_. [[tumblr](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/172389193143)]

Imagine Alec as a baby, his mother holding him in her arms, softly singing his name as she rocks him to sleep.  _Alexander, Alexander._ It’s the only thing that works to soothe him when he’s sick or fussy. 

Imagine the day his name sounds _different_  when she says it. He’s too young to remember it later, too young to recognize grief and shame and guilt, too young to know the changes around him are exile, are loss. But as he grows he can feel there’s something missing, and he hates hearing his name when she says it. Hates even more when it’s his father, too bluff and steady, as if nothing is wrong, as if nothing was ever wrong.

Everything is wrong, but no one will tell him why.

But then he has a baby sister, and she’s beautiful, and he loves her, and he tells her so every day. She can’t say _Alexander,_  so she calls him Alec, and maybe something is finally _right._

His mother smiles when she calls him Alec, and it’s nice. It’s better than Alexander. But she never stays for long, always patting his head and telling him to be good for his lessons, to take care of his sister. He always nods, and she always leaves.

He remembers he used to hug his mother every time he saw her. She used to laugh, and spin him around.  


He thinks he remembers that. 

Maybe he just wishes he remembered that.

But he has Izzy, and he makes sure to hug her every time he says hello.

And then Jace comes, and Jace doesn’t _need_ him, not like Izzy did, but he stays. He _wants_  to stay. Even when they’re not in lessons, or sparring, he chooses to spend his time with Alec. Everyone else says he’s sullen, and angry, and he hits too hard in training, but sometimes when it’s just the two of them, when Alec is quiet, Jace smiles. 

Alec hopes he stays forever. Three people may not be much of a family, but it’s his, and he loves them. He even thinks they love him back. He wants everything to stay like this forever.

Alec’s not sure when he realizes there’s something wrong with him. It came on so gradually. At first he didn’t even realize it wasn’t normal, that he wasn’t normal. It’s all he’s ever known, he’s still who he’s always been, isn’t he?

But Izzy has a laugh he’s never heard before, and it only comes out when boys try to sit with her at dinner. Alec watches Jace hitting on girls over breakfast, smiling at them, and the thought of it makes him feel dizzy, makes him feel sick.

Alec doesn’t want what they want.

Alec doesn’t want what he’s supposed to want. 

Everything is wrong, and he can never tell anyone.


	3. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it gets better. Eventually.

{Magnus}

You have done this dance more times than you can count, despite telling yourself “never again” each and every time. You know that if you let someone close, someday soon you will have to watch them leave.

Your eyes may be titillating when glanced from across the room, a flash of useful intimidation when you’re casting, but they’re entirely unwelcome when you’re home, when it’s quiet, when you only want to  _rest._  No one wants the reminder of where you came from, of what you really are, when they’re in bed.

Sometimes you can hold the glamour. It’s an ugly twist of relief and sorrow as it stays steady. This is no more than you can bear, this kiss does not mean too much.

It’s not safe if it means too much.

All of you is always too much, so you are always careful which small pieces you let fall into sight, slow and controlled and safe. 

Sometimes you cannot help but imagine a time when you can’t, when someone else is too much, too fast, too true, too deep. You imagine you can’t stop yourself from looking at someone with your real face, and instead of flinching back they lean in. 

* * *

 {Alec}

You tell everyone you’re fine. They believe you. 

You’re good at what you do. You must be fine. It doesn’t matter who you  _are,_  you don’t have to tell anyone who you are, you just have to prove to them that you can do what needs to be done. You will always do what needs to be done.

You’re fine.

If you weren’t fine they’d want to fix you. You can’t be fixed. You don’t want to hurt them by making them realize this. You no longer feel it when you hurt yourself.

You’re fine. You have said it so often you almost believe it.

Some days more than others.

Some days you can’t breathe, and the only way to keep it steady, to keep it secret, is to imagine. Imagine telling someone that you’re fine, and they don’t believe you. But they’re not angry or sad or disappointed, they just smile, and let you be  _not fine._  

Some days even that is not enough, and you wonder if you could tell someone the truth about who you are and what you want. If somehow, someday, you could tell someone what you feel, and everything really would be fine.

* * *

Imagine someone looking at you and ignoring what you could be and instead watching what you choose to do. Imagine someone seeing who you really are, rather than who everyone told you to be.

Imagine if it wasn’t just your imagination. Imagine it was real.


End file.
